Scattered Simbelmyne
by Ivory Novelist
Summary: A short plot bunny. Major Leggy angst. Hee hee.Warning: Character Death.No Slash. Please RR. Thank you.


A/N: Well, this is a short oneshot. I was bitten by a plot bunny. Please forgive me for failing to update Brothers in Heart, Delirium, and Hearts of Glass. I really am sorry. I haven't written in them for ages and it's always difficult to write again after a long time away from a story. I intend, with hope, to update them soon, however. I really hate myself for neglecting this way. I have, however, written a few King Arthur fics, after being smitten with the film. And, just between us, hehe, I have a Master&Commander fic in the works. Please, if you are at all interested, go read and review my King Arthur and Dead Poets Society fics. It would make me feel so very good indeed... Hope you like this. I am so evil. Hee hee.

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Scattered Simbelmyne

_If I promised to love you for every hour you breathed, would you live forever?  
_  
It was in the forests of his homeland that he received the message. His days of light and beauty were shattered with one scrap of parchment. Collapsing on the bed of grass, he began to unravel. His eyes cracked, glimmering in the pale sunbeams. He lifted his beautiful head, looking to the patches in the foliage, where the light streamed through from the eternal sky, and his unshed tears glittered to the stain-glass mosaic of the canopy. The flowers had not wilted around him, yet he was crumbling inside. The letter rested in his delicate fingers, swaying in the breeze. Birds sang when his universe exploded. Sunlight danced on his face in mockery of his emotion. How could it be happening now? How could the years have slipped by so quickly? Why had he not seen it coming?  
  
_ If I threaded beauty through the earth for you, would you stay to look upon it?  
_  
He did not listen to his father. He did not listen to any of his people, any of the Elves who had known him for so long. Their concern fell on deaf ears. He packed without uttering a word in reply to their warning and their mild suggestions. He ignored the fear in their eyes as he grabbed the necessities and shoved them into his pack. He strode through the corridors, his father left in his wake, never bringing himself to speak. He would not be comforted. He would not be stopped. How could they believe he would not fade? How could they think this would not destroy him? The forest seemed abandoned all around him. Its beauty was an illusion to comfort the fading. It brought him no relief.  
  
_If I packed away my life in boxes, would you let me follow you?  
_  
He did not look back on home as the wind carried him away from its gates. He refused to think about his father standing alone, watching him leave, and shoved the guilt into darkness. He moved and breathed with his horse, willing it to run across the world without stopping or slowing. He needed to hurry. He needed to arrive before it was too late. If he rode fast enough, perhaps his tears would disappear completely. The white mane whipped up into his face, the tale rippled in likeness to his own golden tresses, and he was a part of the glimmering banner formed with his stallion. Only wilderness lay before him and around him, only an empty road, too long for him to travel, too short to stall the inevitable. His cloak wavered behind him, and he did not think on the memory woven into its threads. He needed no more pain. He needed no more haste to reach the end.  
  
_If I ride fast enough without stopping for myself, will you wait for me?  
_  
The hours blurred into one expanse of time. He did not know how many days it had been. He did not feel moments anymore. Time was meaningless. Time was his enemy. Time was his only hope. It left him trapped, at its mercy and suffering its cruelty all at once. As he had dreaded, the memories had come flooding back into his head, undefined and melted together. Though he breathed and though he rode, they would not leave him. Every vision drove him further into madness. Every image ripped through his flesh once more. He did not want to remember. He did not want to forget. He didn't want to watch anymore. The joys of his past now caused him torment. He left to beg like a weakling. He loathed himself. He hated fate. He lamented to Eru. His pleas went unheard.  
  
_If I ask you to live, will you listen?  
_  
He fled through the familiar gates, leaving his mount panting with guards. The sun had faded behind a blanket of gray clouds, and the wind had returned. It would storm in a few hours time. He could feel it in the earth beneath his feet. Though it was midday, the streets were left empty. He could feel the black garments beyond the closed doors. He did not need to hear wailing to know the people mourned. He ran fast enough to rival his exhausted stallion. If he kept running, his tears would disappear. If he kept running, he wouldn't drown. He needed someone to save him. No one alive knew that he existed. No one loved him in the emptiness. He was running to the ones who did, and they were drifting away from him.  
  
_If I cry out to you, will you come to me?  
_  
He burst through the doors, not stopping for any of the blurred figures around him. He could not see their tears or recognize their faces, though they were his family through love. He could not have endured to look upon the lady's broken face, or the boy's tear-filled eyes. He needed to reach home. He needed make one last plea. He did not feel his feet hitting the tiles, did not hear the raindrop sounds of his throbbing heart. He could only listen to his own breaths coming up in slow heaves, cutting through the heavy silence. Only one more door. Only one more door to step through. His hand stretched out to the handle, flashing memories sickening him once more. He stumbled through, into the aching room.  
  
_ If I fix your image in my mind forever, would you stay the same in reality?  
_  
The king was lying still in bed, age etched into his every feature just to cut at those who loved him. His breath was silent and fading, and his eyes only barely lifted open at the disturbance. He smiled faintly, using his the remnants of his strength needlessly. The Elf left the doorway and knelt at his side, taking the worn hand in both his own. He bowed his head to hide his tears that had not vanished, but the king could always tell and did not miss it. He lifted the fair face up to look at him, looking into lovely tears that twinkled in his eyes. The Elf only stared at him, lip quivering, and he held out a bundle to the king. An ocean of simbelmyne spilled out onto the coverlet, like the pieces of his heart. The Man only smiled again.  
  
_If I give you all of the pretty things, would you put my pieces back together?  
_  
His tears stained the velvet, not the petals. His beauty was not diminished, even in his grief, and some would think it a curse. So many ages did he carry in his limbs, and yet he was the vision of youth beside the dying man, thousands of years younger. It was the king who was dying, yet it was the Elf who was comforted with the Man's whispers. At last, he could not survive any longer, and he lay in bed, curled against his beloved friend. He wept, as the Man gazed up into the veil of his canopy bed, and his hand ran up and down, over his brother's heart. He cried into the king's shoulder, the ocean roaring in their ears like soothing music. The simbelmyne was scattered across the coverlet, and the king smiled to himself. They exchanged familiar words of love that rolled off their lips without thought because of the habit. The Elf uttered words in the quiet, his foundations ruined and his heart dying, his face so near to the king's.  
  
_ If I die for you, would you live for me?  
_  
Legolas lay alone. Aragorn was dead. 


End file.
